


First Times Always Cut The Deepest

by mysterytheseahorse



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, IT: Chapter 2 (2019)
Genre: High School, IT AU, Losers club - Freeform, M/M, Pining, The Losers - Freeform, gay culture baby, like really gay, masturbation mention/implication, no pennywise, richie doesn't have his license because he's gay next question, sweet boys in love in the autumn, they're aged up like senior in high school, uuuh this is gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytheseahorse/pseuds/mysterytheseahorse
Summary: Richie can't stop thinking about Eddie, so he decides to do something about it.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> so what if i based this on my own gay pining? what of it!

Richie’s mattress is poking into his shoulder blades, and his eyes are squeezed shut so hard it’s about to give him a migraine. His stomach twists around, stretching and knotting up like taffy being made in a shop window, all because he’s thinking about Eddie. Eddie straddling Richie’s skinny waist, running his smooth hands over Richie’s chest, kissing under Richie’s jaw. _Holy shit_.

Richie’s got one of his wandering hands bunched up in his sweaty curls and the other scratching at his hip bone underneath his tee shirt. His throat is sticking together and his breath comes and goes in thick gulps. He’s afraid to open his eyes just the littlest bit, even though it’s so uncomfortable to keep his face bunched up the way it is, because he doesn’t want to risk losing the image of Eddie’s hair falling over his freckled forehead and his bubblegum lips parted to expose his little teeth.

Richie brings a skinny leg up to his deflated chest, sheets bunching up under his thigh, and cranes his back up off the bed. He doesn’t touch himself yet because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, make it feel dirty. Richie doesn’t want to fuck Eddie; he wants to kiss his tan neck and rub his feet and hold his little hands and nibble at his ear and brush his thick hair and suck his dick. Maybe Richie wants to fuck Eddie.

He wants Eddie to take his virginity, and he wouldn’t even make a joke like, _I_ _fucked_ _your_ _mom_ _like_ _this_ _last_ _night_, _Eds_. He wants it to be drawn out and gentle, and he wants to be able to tell Eddie how pretty he is the whole time. He’d kiss Eddie so hard and so soft at the same time, and Eddie would pant into his mouth. Richie’s legs shake now, and his hair is plastered to his neck.

He pulls at his shirt and his duvet just because it was something to touch, and he couldn’t be still while Eddie was laying flat against his torso with his fists tangled in Richie’s hair and his legs bent on either side of Richie’s hips. _God__._ But Eddie’s not there.

Richie becomes very frustrated all of the sudden, a heavy, burgundy frustration behind his eyes and under his ribs. It wasn’t fair at all that he was all hot and bothered while Eddie wasn’t thinking of him at all. What was Eddie doing right now anyway? Probably reading R.L. Stein and hitting his inhaler like a toke because he was so scared of some stupid monster. Maybe he was watching Back to the Future and creaming his pants over Jennifer. Richie wants Eddie to cream his pants over him.

He throws his sheets into the floor and stands up a little too quickly, nearly falling back down because of the wobbliness in his knees. _Jesus_. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he tells his mom he’s leaving, and she tells him, a little aggravated, that it’s a school night and he needs to be back before curfew. Richie just rolls his eyes and huffs as he stomps out the door.

With his skin still too tender and sensitive, his bike seat pushes into his ass uncomfortably. Still, Richie pedals so fast, like a machine working on overdrive. His knees threaten to give out and the wind biting his cheeks feed like a carpet burn on his face, but all that matters is the movement of his body. He feels alive and present, extant and powerful in Derry, Maine on a Wednesday night. He raises his arms off the handlebars into the black sky and sort of feels like Rose from Titanic. He wants Eddie to be his Jack, except he wouldn’t leave Eddie in the ocean. Richie’s eyes begin to fill up with water and he isn’t sure if it’s because of the bitter autumn stinging his skin or because he’s just so overwhelmed by emotion. _I think I might love Eddie. Fuck._


	2. two

Eddie sits on top of his fingers with his flannel sheets up to his chin. Sleep is very nearly about to wash over his frail frame when his mother calls, “Eddie! Someone’s here to see you!” Pulled out of his peaceful rest, he groans and flops his legs off the side of the bed.

As he pulls a worn argyle sweater over his head, he wanders to the front door past the strained eyes of his mother. She tells him to be quick; it’s awfully cold outside, and she wouldn’t want her boy to get sick. Eddie figures that when he pushes open the creaky screen door, he’ll see Ben asking for homework or Beverly trying to bum a cigarette from his mother; so when he sees Richie Tozier shivering on his rickety porch, shifting his weight back and forth and causing the floorboards to groan, the breath is nearly knocked out of Eddie’s lungs.

Richie’s never looked to innocent before, so gentle. His cheeks are dry and red, and with his big doe eyes focusing on a withered ivy plant instead of Eddie and his hands wrung out in front of his belly, he looks like a little kid from a commercial for flu medicine. Eddie thinks he looks angelic. _Wow_.

Eddie wants to ask why Richie’s there, alone and on a school night, but all he can muster is a clammy, “Hi.”

Richie nods and still refuses to make eye contact. “Hi.” Eddie coughs just a little and cracks his fingers just so there would be a sound to listen to other than breathing.

They stand there for a little longer, Eddie twisting his shirttail behind his back, and at the same time he says, “What’s up,” Richie blurts, “I want to kiss you.”

-

Looking at Eddie in a borderline transparent Star Wars tee shirt underneath the flickering yellow light that casts long shadows of his thick eyelashes down his cheeks, Richie thinks he might just pass out. Or vomit. Or bolt. _Why did I even come here? Not like I’m gonna fuckin’ do anything. Well, Trashmouth, you just gonna stare at him? Jesus._ “I want to kiss you.”

Eddie swallows hard and the way his eyes widen and his shoulders tense seriously prompts Richie to just run. He wouldn’t even bother to get his bike; he’d just tear through the grass, slinging mud behind him, and breathing so hard he wouldn’t be able to hear his Converse slapping the ground. Eddie steps forward, though, and the wooden porch bows just a bit under his feet. A stone rises in Richie’s throat, obstructing his airway and making his head go light.

Eddie kisses him, not a full kiss, just a chaste peck, the kind of kiss you give your middle school crush during spin the bottle. It’s just enough that, when Eddie pulls away, Richie catches himself leaning forward as his glasses slip down his face. Just enough to taste Eddie’s toothpaste and bring back the shake in his knees with a vengeance. Just enough that the chill creeping into his hands and feet is replaced with sticky warmth. _Just_ _enough_. It could’ve been more though, so much more, and Richie knows that.

Eddie, on the other hand, looks almost uncomfortable, gnawing on his lip and rubbing this thumb into the palm of his hand. Looking at his feet he swallows hard and asks, “Like that?”

Richie wants to seem cool, and he imagines himself saying something like, _Yeah, man just like that_. He’s scared, though, scared shitless that he’d made Eddie feel pressured or that Eddie thought he was a god-awful kisser. All he says is “Uh huh,” and he sees Eddie crack a crooked smile.

Richie pretends for a second that he can say or do anything in the whole wide world, and none of it will have any consequence in the morning. He takes Eddie’s hand, and surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t pull away, just curls his smooth fingers around Richie’s. Richie is sweating and wobbly, and knows it, but he tries his best to mask the embarrassment behind confidence. Eddie either didn’t notice or he was very good at pretending.

“Again?”

“Yes,” Eddie returns just a little faster than Richie expected him to. _Fuck_.

Richie takes his hand out of Eddie’s and places it on the side of Eddie's face. He can feel sweat beading up on his hairline even though it was so fucking cold he could feel his balls inverting. It satisfies him to know that Eddie’s body was reacting. Richie spent all day with his stomach tangled, daydreaming about Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, and it only seemed fair that Eddie felt some of the same frustration.

-

This time when Richie put his lips on Eddie’s, there is a palpable purpose. Eddie tilts his head into Richie’s palm and hopes that Richie can’t feel his pulse pounding in his temple.

Eddie’s hesitant; he’d never kissed anybody on the mouth before in his life. Of course, his mom kissed him on the forehead just about every time she passed him, big hands gripping the back of his neck and humid breath on his face. Richie isn't like her at all. He smells like cotton laundry detergent and rain. His skin is scruffy with the first bit of facial hair managing to emerge from his chin. His hands are hesitant on Eddie’s shoulder and neck, fingers grazing over his ear. _Oh man_. Eddie shivers and keeps the kiss; he breathes into Richie mouth as Richie grips his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another update coming soon!


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